Coal once occupied a dominant place in capitalist society and with the allure of so-called “clean coal” and the pressure of “economic necessity” it is once again poised to do the same. The exploitation of the resource secured enormous profits for the people and cartels who managed to obtain private ownership of this geological and collective asset. Its extraction also led to the shattering of lives through premature death and debilitating illness, ensured the social and economic subservience of families to the whims of the boss class in single-resource-dependent communities and created significant environmental problems. However, coal and the work routines associated with mining also helped greatly in the development of the consciousness and disposition of the collective working class to act for transformative social change. The history of coal minutely reflects the larger history of the social relations of production in our current economic system.

However, in addition to this broader dimension, there is also the personal history of the individual atavism of people who are descended from coal miners. For example, my grandfather was a coal miner in Leigh, England and the folklore and hegemony of that particular history has certainly served to influence my political and ideological standpoints. This atavism also informs journalist John DeMont in his book, Coal black heart: The Story of Coal and the Lives it Ruled.

The Westray disaster and tragedy in 1992 re-awoke DeMont’s interest in coal mining. DeMont, who until recently had a cousin still working underground, provides a chronicle of the history of the Nova Scotia coal mines (particularly those in Cape Breton) — weaving the personal narrative of his family throughout the process.

In many ways, despite the solid evidence the author uses to portray the history, the book is largely a mythological tale of the struggle between good and evil. The good being represented by the miners who came from “over an ocean and over a sea” and faced the Herculean task of fighting for living wages, workplace safety and basic dignity. The good being represented by the common people together with such labour giants as J.B. McLachlan of the United Mine Workers.

The bad is made incarnate in the figure of Roy Wolvin and the monied interests of Boston, Montreal and London who treated people as disposable commodities, ran to the anti-worker governments for protection during times of industrial unrest and looked upon the organized working class as weak people who couldn’t “stand the gaff.” There’s no doubt which side DeMont is on.

Yet, being mindful of the parodies that such simplifications sometimes result in, DeMont’s work is a readily accessible example of a person’s engagement with his individual and collective history. Sure, it provides the facts and a good bibliography. But it also presents the stories of community baseball, state oppression, music and a sensitive portrayal of what the routine of mining meant for young children in the mines, the older workers bent double from toiling in small chambers and those employed in subaltern positions in mining communities. It presents the dangers of mining, but also richly reveals the glories of mining communities beyond the darkness of the shaft.

Surprisingly, not everyone is interested in the history of the working class. So, I suppose, at first blush, there could be a limited audience for this book. But this is not a stuffy academic work; it is an honest and enjoyable tome. Overall, DeMont paints an engaging picture of the cultural interaction of people with a resource.